Awena's Curse

Author's Note: This was written for the first round the 2024 NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge. My assignment included the following: Genre - Ghost Story, Subject - A blood feud, Character - A ranger

Charlie Hodges folded the note and returned it to the pocket of his vest.

Dusterville is in distress. McNab and Spencer will destroy us all. The violence is spreading, please send help! H. Tracy

It was a curious message, in its words and in its discovery, for it hadn’t been delivered. Another ranger had happened upon a wandering horse and found the note in the saddle bag. Charlie had been sent to investigate.

He gazed at the few building tops clustered together about half a mile away and the interwoven steel fingers of a mining headframe nestled in the desert hills behind the town. Dusterville. He’d been watching the town for the better part of an hour and hadn’t seen a soul.

Fifteen years ago he’d been chasing outlaws and fighting off Indian attacks, but the rangers weren’t what they once were. Neither was the frontier. It had all but disappeared.

“Alright, Mouse,” he said as he patted his horse’s rump. “Let’s get to work, show this town the law has arrived.”

Charlie heaved himself up into the saddle and coaxed Mouse into a casual walk. He kept his eyes and ears open, but the only sight to see was an empty street and the only sound was Mouse’s clopping hooves.

Mouse snorted uneasily.

At the end of the street stood the church. They rounded the front and Charlie gasped. A cemetery crept into the desert. The size of it was unthinkable for a small town that had only sprung into existence a few years ago. There were a few headstones clustered near the church and then a garden of crosses fanning out beyond.

A sudden wave of panic rose in Charlie’s body. Surely this was the work of disease. He should ride out at once and put some distance between himself and this place.

But then a torrent of wind rushed across him. A cloud of dust was marching in from the desert. Turning back toward the town, he secured Mouse in the blacksmith stable and then hightailed it into the church.

The winds howled as Charlie laid down on a pew and slipped into a restless sleep.

***

Gunshots startled Charlie awake. He thought he might be dreaming or lost in a memory, but no mistake, someone was firing bullets. In a crouched position he snuck out and hid behind a wagon just a few yards down from the church.

His eyes searched the moonlit street and caught a glimmer of light shimmering in front of the general store. Its form was shifting, a sliver of light reaching out from its core. There was another one like it twenty paces further down the street.

Charlie blinked rapidly. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. But the shimmering lights remained. They almost appeared to be wearing hats and holding…guns.

Charlie had heard plenty of stories describing what he was seeing and never given an ounce of serious thought to any of them. Ghosts weren’t real, just delusions of the weak minded or inventions of attention seekers. And yet what else could he possibly be seeing?

Down the length of the street, moonlit ghosts flashed in and out. Some darted about, some stood their ground. None of them took notice of him. They all had their targets or assailants to be concerned with.

It was a terrible and mesmerizing sight. Charlie couldn’t bring himself to look away, though his fear urged his feet to flee.

Then he couldn’t run, he was falling and he was in pain. He’d been knocked to the ground and there was weight pinning him down.

“I’ll get you, Sammy boy!” a voice above him yelled at the night. Then wild eyes fixed their sights on him. “Where is he? Show me where he is!”

This was no ghost, but a crazed man with spittle landing in his gray beard. Charlie cursed himself for losing hold of his pistol.

The man held a hunting knife up, tilting it back and forth to glint in the moonlight, preparing to plunge it into Charlie’s chest. Then he paused and looked up.

The chorus of gunfire halted.

Charlie whipped his head to the side to look at what had caught his attacker’s attention. A form of light had materialized in front of the church. This ghost was different from the others, its light more golden. No gun or hat, but long hair and a dress. When she crossed the paths of the other ghosts they faded into nothingness.

“Curse bringer…” the man on top of Charlie hissed. He jumped up at once and sprinted off into the shadows before Charlie could think about making chase.

Charlie looked back toward the ghost woman, watching her graceful march. To his shock she stopped in front of him and turned to face him. Her eyes were fiery and her hair hung down to her waist.

“Come and seek me where it began,” she said. Then she dissolved.

The street was empty once again.

Charlie grappled with what he had just witnessed. Ghosts gunfighting and a crazed man nearly gutting him. Something more sinister than sickness had clearly decimated Dusterville.

His musings were interrupted by an unexpected noise, not gunshots this time, but music. He scanned the streets and saw that the saloon windows were set aglow from within.

Charlie gathered his courage, strode down the street, and walked in.

The saloon was bustling with about thirty people, but they weren’t quite as opaque as they ought to be and their clothes boasted a collection of bullet holes, bloodstains, and burn marks.

Unlike the ghosts in the street, these ones were very much aware of Charlie’s presence, whispering and watching him intently.

Two ghosts were playing cards at a table across the room, one of them stood and beckoned Charlie to come over.

As he reached the table, the ghost man settled back to hover on his seat, “Please join us, ranger. My name is Benjamin Dunn. This here is Bill Sherman.” He nodded his head toward the man on his right.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Charlie said, his voice strained. “I’m Charlie Hodge.”

“The pleasure is ours, Mr. Hodge,” Dunn declared. “We were beginning to lose hope that we’d ever see a living soul again! It’s been a sobering few months. And we spend all our time in a saloon! Imagine that!”

“What happened to everyone?”

Dunn shook his head, “Vengeance and violence. It started with two families and spread like grassfire.”

“The Spencers and the McNabs?”

“Indeed, but how do you know that?” Dunn inquired.

Charlie pulled the folded note from his pocket.

“It worked!” Sherman exclaimed. “I am …or rather, I was the postmaster, one of the first to discover that the curse prevented anyone from leaving or coming. Helen Tracy came to me desperate that we should find some help. It was her idea to send out the horse. And now you’re here!”

“What curse?” Charlie said.

“Well, John Spencer and Seth McNab each owned one of the mines just outside of town,” Dunn began. “About six months ago Spencer’s mine unearthed a mother lode of silver ore. McNab wasn’t too happy, started complaining he’d been cheated out of that mining site by Spencer. Then McNab’s son set the Spencer hoist house on fire. It was a Sunday and no one was supposed to be inside, but Spencer had gone out to do some inspecting around the mine and brought his son with him. The boy was playing in the hoist house when the McNab kid lit it up.

“It destroyed Awena, his mother, when they told her the news. The next day she walked into town barefoot and hair hanging loose. She approached McNab right here in the saloon, muttering phrases no one could understand. Her grandmother was a native and had taught Awena her ways and language. Then she said:

In dying not one shall be freed

Guilty hands all bound to their deed

Every soul dwelling here entomb

This blood stained soil has sealed their doom

When vengeful hand takes final breath

Then depart to fate beyond death

“McNab dragged her out to the street and shot her. After that Spencer retaliated. He and some of his men ambushed McNab’s son in the street and killed him. Things only escalated from there.

“Then the hauntings started too and we realized the town was cursed. Anyone who tried to leave could ride in the desert all day and find themselves looking ahead at Dusterville on the horizon every evening. And the hatred spread like a plague—even people who had no stake in the blood feud might turn violent with only the slightest provocation.”

“A man shot me for taking a second look at his new boots,” Sherman said.

Charlie lifted the note up, “H. Tracy, you said her name was Helen?”

Sherman nodded.

“Where is she?”

“Hiding. They’re the last, she and her son, Sam,” Sherman replied. “Tom McNab, Seth’s unhinged cousin, is hunting them. Believes that once he kills them the curse will be lifted.”

“Will it?” Charlie asked.

“Only Awena knows,” Dunn said.

“She won’t tell you?”

“She speaks to no one.

“She spoke to me. She told me to come meet her where it all began. That’s the hoist house of the Spencer mine, isn’t it?”

The two ghosts eyed one another.

Dunn nodded.

***

Charlie didn’t understand why, but he knew he had to hurry. He retrieved Mouse and rode into the hills toward the mine.

Once he reached the hoist house, he dismounted and listened for any noise. All was quiet.

Suddenly Awena appeared before him. Her gaze was piercing yet filled with so much sorrow.

“You came.”

“Yes. But why am I here?”

She cast her eyes down for a moment, then met his gaze again.

“They stole my Elsu from me. A fire raged so strong within me. They needed to pay for what they had done. But I lost control. It is their vengeance, but also mine, that ruined this place. My enemies think that once all the town is eradicated they’ll be free. But that’s not true. If a revenge seeker is the last to die, we’re all trapped for eternity. I need you to save them,” she looked back over her shoulder to the hoist house. “To save us all from what I’ve done.”

“They can’t leave.”

“They can, with you. After Tom is dead.”

Charlie nodded. Then he strode toward the hoist house door. Glancing to the side he noticed a mound of dirt with a cross at its end. He looked back to where Awena had stood, but she was gone.

He pushed open the door. Moonlight spilled in. A young man stood before him holding a length of pipe and clutching a bundle of cloth to his chest.

“Sam, it’s alright!” Charlie exclaimed. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help. Your mom sent me a letter. Where is she?”

A few tears streamed down Sam’s cheeks. “She didn’t make it. The birth didn’t go right and I didn’t know what to do. She said everything would be okay, but then she was gone. Ruth’s alright. I took care of her.” The bundle of cloth wriggled in his arms and the crying of a baby filled the night.

“I’m sorry, son, I truly am. You’ve had to be brave and strong. But you're not alone anymore. I’m going to take you somewhere safe. Come, let’s get out of here.”

Sam hesitated for a brief moment, then followed Charlie out into the night.

“We have one stop to make back in town and then we’ll be on our way,” Charlie said as Sam climbed into Mouse’s saddle.

“You’re going to kill Tom, aren’t you?”

Charlie paused. He replied, “Yes.”

“Good,” Sam said with a cold bitterness.

Charlie almost pulled back the baby from Sam’s outstretched hands, but didn’t. Yet he remained unsettled by the boy’s tone as they descended into town.

“Now listen, get down from the horse and stay right here,” Charlie commanded. “Understand?”

Sam nodded and obeyed.

Charlie walked down the street just passed the church and called out, “Tom McNab, come out and fight! If you outshoot me, Sam is yours and your hunt is finished.”

A couple minutes passed. Charlie was preparing himself to search the town, but then a man in tattered clothes and a crooked hat ambled into the street. He held his hunting knife in one hand and a pistol in the other.

“Don’t stand in my way, ranger,” Tom sputtered. “Take your horse and go before I change my mind.”

“Not going to happen, Tom,” Charlie declared.

A gunshot rang out. Tom had fired a round that buried itself a few inches from Charlie’s boots.

“I don’t fight fair, ranger. Not going to start now.”

Charlie glanced back to make sure Sam and Ruth were still far enough away. But they were gone.

A wild yell blared. It wasn’t Tom, but Sam who had snuck up behind the old man and was swinging his piece of pipe. Sam was quick, but Tom was quicker. He slashed with his hunting knife and Sam dropped to the ground.

Charlie didn’t hesitate but fired two shots for good measure in the back of Tom’s head.

He rushed over to Sam who was bleeding out fast. Charlie held the boy’s face and watched as life left his eyes.

Awena appeared, kneeling across from Charlie.

“It’s over,” she said. “The curse is broken. I’m sorry about the boy. I’d hoped he would live, that his heart had not been tainted yet. You could not save him, ranger.”

Charlie nodded. He understood but that didn’t make it easy to accept. This town had known much pain and now he had shared in some of its anguish.

He looked up and saw the town aglow with the forms of ghosts. They crowded every inch of the street, eyes focused on the brightening horizon.

Then Sam’s form rose in front of him. There was a moment of confusion before the young man spotted a ghost woman standing nearby, one that shared his features. He floated up, stood beside her, and grabbed her hand in his.

Awena stood too.

As the sun rose above the hills the ghosts seemed to burst apart. In a moment they were gone, as if it had all been a dream.

Charlie could have sat there for hours pondering what had taken place, but he remembered Ruth and ran back toward the church. He started to panic when he couldn’t find her, but finally caught sight of movement in the cemetery. Ruth sat among the crosses waving her limbs and babbling as infants do.

He gathered her up in his arms.

There were two graves to dig and then he and the little one could depart. They could leave the curse and dust of this ghost town behind them and set off in search of new frontiers.